


Do What You Have to Do

by KaRaEa



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Depression, Drug Use, Episode: s05e04 The End, M/M, References to Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Songfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-12
Updated: 2013-08-27
Packaged: 2017-12-14 19:23:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/840477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaRaEa/pseuds/KaRaEa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sam says yes to Lucifer, Dean stops talking, stops moving, stops everything. And when he starts again he's not the same. The only thing keeping Dean going is finding a way to stop Lucifer, to set Sam free, and the only thing Castiel can do is do it with him.<br/>How 2014 Dean and Cas ended up the way they were.<br/>Name and chapter names from Sarah McLachlan - Do What You Have to Do</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. What Ravages of Spirit Conjured This Temptuous Rage

**Author's Note:**

> This is a most definitely a WIP and I can't promise anything apart from that there will be updates and it will get finished. I haven't got a lot of spare time to work on this and just wanted to get opinions on it and some more incentive to write and post it, so if you like it please let me know so I can put more focus on it.  
> There are three more chapters on stand by as I post this that I will put up once a week. After that it'll be whatever I've managed to write in the meanwhile and won't be as regular.

Dean lay silent. He had been for three days.

Castiel let him be.

He would only damage himself mentally this way, the drip in him arm would make certain of that; though 'only' seemed a ridiculous understatement, there was little else he could do. If he was still an angel he would have stepped inside Dean's mind and talked to him, or at least tried to, but as he was all he could do was see to the needs of the man's body. His mind would have to heal on it's own if it could.

For the those three days Castiel had let him have his silence, not knowing what to say and knowing he wouldn't recieve an answer anyway. The loneliness ached, but it was tolerable; it was nothing to the feeling of being cut off from heaven, nothing to knowing the father he'd trusted in his whole existence had just decided to sit this one out and let his faithful children suffer, and he'd grown accustomed to those a long time ago.

The camp moved on around them, looking to Castiel now that their unchallenged leader lay catatonic, though Castiel was not much more use than the man lying in the bed before him.

In truth he hadn't been for a very long time.

He broke off his musings to look behind him to the man stood uncertainly in the doorway. He wondered when he'd got there.

Chuck took the acknowledgement as an invitation to enter and coughed as he came to stand beside Castiel. “No change?” He asked, though one glance at the bed could give him all the answer he needed. No one seemed to want to look at Dean like this; it unnerved them that the once volatile man was so still and quiet.

Castiel shook his head.

Chuck filled his cheeks with air and blew out, seemingly at a loss as to how to start the conversation he wanted now that his opening had been shot down.

Castiel took pity on him. “How did the factory raid go last night?”

Chuck looked up from the spot on the wall he'd been focused on. “It went well. We got two-dozen crates of tinned soup and a generator.”

“Casualties?” Castiel asked absently, his attention on the slow rise and fall of Dean's chest.

Chuck looked confused for a moment. “None. As I said, it went well.”

Castiel nodded. “Good. I want a full inventory check ready for tomorrow's briefing.”

“Right.” Chuck took this as his cue to leave, but halted in the doorway. “Have you tried talking to him?”

Castiel looked up at him with a frown. “No.”

“You might wanna try it. I don't know how it works with...” He trailed off; no one in the camp knew what to call whatever was happening to Dean, none of them were psychologists. “But my cousin, she was in a coma for a few weeks after a car crash. They said that even though she couldn't answer, the talking might help. Might give her a tether to the world around her.”

The ex-angel glanced back at the man in question and nodded slightly. It was worth trying at least.

Except that maybe it wasn't.

The first few days of talking were alright. He'd tell Dean all about the running of the camp, even though most of it Dean would have heard from those coming to report to Castiel, and how he wished he could get Dean's advice on some of the things he was meant to do. He told him about the family of survivors they found in an old war bunker and how protective the elder child had been of her sister, that it reminded him of Dean. He told him about his latest revelations on being human; for example that his nose was always itchy when his hands were otherwise occupied. It seemed a little empty to Castiel, but at the same time he found himself clinging to the thought that maybe Dean could hear him, that even though Dean's mind was damaged some of what he was saying was getting through, tying him to the world Castiel was trapped in.

As the weeks passed Castiel even found himself imagining Dean's replies, asking questions that Dean would give predictable answers to so he could pretend a conversation. It hurt, but it was better than nothing.

Then a member of a raiding team was brought back infected.

Castiel sat until time had almost run out staring at Dean, wishing he would wake up, snap out of it. Take care of this for him, or if he was being less selfish then tell him what to do. Tell him that what he was about to do was the right thing; that he had to do it. Because Castiel knew, he did, but he needed to hear it from Dean. He couldn't kill a man who he knew, who he had worked alongside, fought alongside, without hearing those words from the person who had taught him the value of human life in the first place. Without being told to do it.

He said it quietly at first. He knew it was pointless but he couldn't help but ask anyway, couldn't help but hope that after everything Dean would pull through now he needed him so much. Of course he just stayed silent and still.

Castiel came closer and whispered desperately, begging, no _praying_ to Dean to find his way back to him and say what he needed to hear.

And then he knew his time was up. He left and did what needed to be done.

He didn't come back until the next day, well after noon and reeking of the alcohol he'd saturated himself in. It seemed to be his default reaction when those he had faith in let him down. The bitter thought crept into his mind that he was following Dean's example.

He glared down at the unmoving form and willed himself to unhook the drip. If Dean was going to be so useless then those supplies were needed elsewhere. If Dean wanted to starve to death or die from dehydration then that was his perogotive.

He set about removing the drip, careful not to waste any of the solution that was flowing lazily into Dean's body but not careful of Dean, pulling roughly and letting the blood blossom on the bedsheets. Next went the catheter and Castiel sneered at that; that the great and mighty Dean Winchester had reduced himself to this. He left the covers off; if Dean didn't care about him then he wasn't going to bother about Dean's dignity.

He bent his face low to say something to Dean, something brutal, but his hazed mind forgot the words and he retreated to the corner of the room, still staring at the pathetic creature his friend had become.

 

When he woke up a woman, a nurse from the camp infirmary, was hooking Dean back up to the drip and the catheter. She didn't say a word to Castiel, blanked him completely.

It took a moment to realise why the drip and the catheter were out in the first place, and when he did he couldn't believe it. He scrambled to his feet as soon as the nurse left, noting that she left an armed guard just outside the doorway, presumably to prevent him from causing their leader any further harm.

He stopped halfway to the bed, his brow furrowed with guilt and self-loathing. His friend was hurt and instead of looking after him, instead of providing him with care and patience, he had come in here in a drunken stupor and practically assaulted him. He promised would be better from now on. A better friend, a better human.

Over the next week he took over everything in Dean's care. No one mentioned it, it was like they were expecting it.

He still held all the meetings and briefings, but Risa began to organise and lead the raiding parties and Chuck took over the supplies management, allowing Castiel the extra time with Dean.

He didn't touch alcohol during his care of Dean; didn't dare risk a repeat of his earlier mistake.

That didn't mean he didn't get angry though, that he didn't sometimes loathe Dean for leaving him to do this by himself. He couldn't help but think that if he said the right thing Dean would come around.

So he talked about Sam.

The thing that had started all of this.

He talked about Lucifer and he talked about the Crotoan virus. He talked about how it wasn't Dean's fault and then he talked about how Dean should have stopped it. About how he was never going to leave like Sam did then how he wished he could go back to heaven.

Nothing worked. In the end he wasn't really sure what did.

Two days shy of a month from the day Dean stopped talking and responding Castiel came back from a briefing to find the cabin in pieces. The bed linens were on the floor, the drip lying next to a dent in the wall, the bedside table knocked over, the jug that was on it shattered on the floor. Everywhere he looked he saw some new destruction, some new evidence of violence. And no Dean.

 


	2. Created you a monster, broken by the rule of love

Castiel left the cabin in such haste he tripped on the bottom step, coming down hard on his knee. He got up immediately, wobbling a little as his injured leg took his weight, and went straight to the edge of the camp.

The way the guards turned guilty eyes on him as he stumbled up to the gates let him know his suspicions were correct. Dean had made it out of camp, though not without opposition as one of the guards' black eye attested to. In truth, he was surprised Dean had the strength after a month of complete inactivity.

He pushed past the guards with a scathing look, still limping slightly but letting them know that they weren't going to stop him any more than they had done Dean.

The man in question was slumped on the ground only a few meters out of sight of the camp. He probably hadn't been able to get further.

Castiel walked in front of his blank stare, his heart still racing and hoping to see Dean's eyes come up to meet his. Anything would be better than the unresponsive emptiness that he'd been faced with for so long. He was prepared for anger, would welcome it, even if it came out in violence against himself. He was also prepared for tears and sorrow. He wasn't sure how he would handle that, but he would, just as he would handle depression or hysteria. Anything, anything but another month without him.

His eyes remained fixed straight ahead, staring into space.

“Dean.” Castiel wasn't expecting an answer, was already testing his leg to see if it could hold the extra weight of Dean if it came to carrying him. He still had to say it though.

He wasn't expecting Dean to stand up, still not looking at Castiel, and walk back towards the camp.

He also wasn't expecting Dean to round up Risa and Chuck along with several others for a progress report.

No one said anything about Dean's sudden recovery, just throwing glances between him and Castiel and answering their leader's questions. They seemed to think better of questioning it.

Castiel himself was as confused as the rest of them, though by their quizzical looks the others believed he had the answers. He was watching Dean with something akin to awe, like he was witnessing the resurrection of Christ.

When everyone had been dismissed Castiel decided now was the time to get up the guts to ask what had changed. But he couldn't. It was as if asking might break whatever spell had brought Dean back to him. So he didn't ask.

“Haven't you got anywhere you need to be?” Dean asked, not looking up from the inventory sheets in front of him.

Cas' breath caught. “No.”

“What, nothing?” Dean frowned and looked up.

“No, Dean. We held briefings earlier, I have no other duties.” He tried to suppress the scream working it's way up his throat. Dean was awake and functioning and _talking_ and he was trying to get rid of him. All that time, all those one sided conversations, and after all that waiting he was still alone.

“Since when?” Dean asked disapprovingly.

“When do you think?!” Castiel shouted, before looking away in an attempt to collect himself before anything else could leave his lips or his stinging eyes.

Dean's face hardened and he looked back down at the papers. “Go talk to Risa and Chuck, see if they need a hand with anything.”

Castiel clenched his fists and clamped his lips shut, turning and leaving as Dean seemed to want. He had no intention of talking to Risa or Chuck.

  


Eric, one of the perimeter guards, was lying back against the sparse and prickly grass as he walked past. Castiel had been as good as human for long enough to know what the small white thing between his fingers was, and he watched as the man inhaled and released gusts of smoke, watching them rise above his face with a slowly creeping grin.

It looked peaceful.

He continued to his cabin.

After three shots of whiskey had done nothing but make him dizzy, he went back to where Eric was still getting steadily stoned.

It was the work of two minutes to convince him to share his stash.

A little more than ten minutes and Cas was throwing up in nearby shrubbery, but he'd glimpsed enough of the careless calm of the drug. He swapped some of his rations for a small amount to take back to his cabin with him.

  


Six days later he woke up to Dean hitting his foot, which was dangling off the edge of the bed.

“Get up.” His leader ordered.

Cas grinned lazily up at him. “Nah, I'm good.”

Dean frowned, slowly piecing together Cas' attitude and slightly glazed expression with the roll up stubs in the ash tray next to the bed. “Weed Cas? Seriously? I thought you knew better.”

“Like you've never tried it.” Cas pulled himself up to stand, swaying a little as blood rushed to his head. He liked marijuana, it calmed him and a welcome side effect was the way it humanized him. He never felt more like the others and less the angel he used to be than when he was stoned, and people noticed. He was more laid back, he slouched, he laughed a lot even if it was more than a little hollow. He even used abbreviations and sometimes went as far as slang. It made him fit in more.

“Yeah, but when I tried it I wasn't gonna have to go on a supply run in six hours.” Dean's glare lost some of its fire as his mind became distracted with camp business.

Cas sighed. Well, the concern had been nice while it lasted. “I'm fine. I can still go.” He pulled off his shirt and walked over to the wash basin in the corner to mop at the sweat on his torso.

“Fine. Risa's expecting you.” Dean turned and left, barely pausing to shut the door behind him.

Castiel wasn't sure how he felt about going on a mission under Risa's command; he hadn't been on a supply run since before Dean broke down, the only leader he was used to was Dean, the rest of the time he was usually in charge. Still, wasn't like he hadn't handed the job to her. If he'd just stuck with his duties instead of obsessing over his catatonic friend then he'd probably still be leading them out.

As walked to the gates to meet the expedition team, he realised he didn't care. Risa was a capable leader and he trusted her not to get them killed. Apart from that it didn't matter.  


	3. And Fate Has Led You Through It, You Do What You Have to Do

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter after this is the only other I have complete, but no one really seems that interested so it probably doesn't matter. And yeah, I know I'm basically playing the sad card to try and make you guys review, but I really am sad :(  
> (is it working?)  
> Anyway, I'll quit annoying you. If you're reading then I guess you liked the first couple of chapters, if not I'm only talking to myself...

They were leaving the warehouse when Aaron tripped. There were croats behind them and Risa was racing ahead, opening and holding the door for the others to leave.

Cas fell back to pull him up by the arm, nearly dislocating the guy's arm with the force of the upwards tug. They were moving again though and that was what mattered.

“Come on!” Risa yelled from the doorway. Croats were closing from either side now, and if they didn't get to the door soon Risa would be putting herself and the others in danger if she didn't close it.

Castiel tried to pick up the pace, pulling Aaron along as he struggled to balance on his sprained ankle. They weren't going to make it to the door in time. He glanced around desperately for another way out. There was a fire exit up the stairs to his right, only two croats in the way but there would be others behind them and Aaron's injured ankle would do them no favours. Another quick glance to the door told him it was the only real option left. “Go!” He called out to Risa, raising his arm in the same breath to fire his gun at the croats in his way. His arm jarred, his gun was definitely not designed to be fired one handed, but he kept his grip and managed to take down one of his targets. Albeit not the one he was aiming for, but he'd take what he could get. Aaron shot at the other just as Risa slipped out of the building, the door clanging shut behind her, and they made their way over to the stairs as quickly as they were able.

Aaron fired a short, only partially aimed burst behind them as they reached the first step. “Cas, go on ahead and open the door. I'll keep them occupied.”

Cas shook his head with a vague smile and kept pulling his companion up the steps. If there was one good thing he could take from the apocalypse, it was this new-found insight into the heroics of humanity. Some were brave like Aaron, others would share much needed rations with those who needed them more, he'd even seen a man staying up all night making toys to make life that much more bearable for the children at the camp. There were the ugly sides of humanity too of course; the selfish and the scared, normal people doing horrible things, hateful things, to stay alive at the expense of others. But those were expected and understandable; the drive to survive is stronger than most people can handle, especially if they have family and loved ones to protect. Those who killed others for the sake of their children had their own warped heroism.

Aaron took little persuading after that; one bout of self-sacrifice had taken enough and he wasn't about to press the issue.

When they made it to the top of the steps, Cas went to open the door while Aaron held off the croats that had attempted to follow them up the stairs. He spared a brief, dry chuckle at the fact that Aaron had one fully working leg and he had one fully working arm, the kick-back from firing earlier still making it shake and twitch a little. He wasn't entirely sure it wasn't dislocated.

They slipped through the fire escape and onto the metal platform beyond, pushing the door shut behind them and leaning against it as they took in the scene before them.

Most of the croats in the area had followed the sound of gunfire into the warehouse, and now only a scattered few wandered around on the ground below.

Aaron took aim over the railings but didn't fire just yet, looking to Castiel.

Cas shook his head; they didn't want to draw attention to themselves if they could help it. He leaned over the railings, straining to see around the corner to where Risa and the others would be loading up the trucks. In some strange symmetry, the survivors' vehicles rounded the corner at that moment. He waved to gain their attention and Risa barked orders at the others, who started taking out the remaining croats as Cas and Aaron made their way down to the ground.

Strong hands pulled them into the trucks, the ground moving away beneath them before they were properly inside.

The pain in Castiel's arm grew as his adrenaline rush receded, and he grit his teeth against the jostling movements of the truck on the pitted tarmac of the neglected roads. It wouldn't be long before he was back at camp with his whiskey and his weed and someone nearby to fix whatever the hell he'd done to his arm. He wondered briefly if Dean would be worried about how close he'd come to being trapped. If that door had stuck or the fire escape had been broken then it could easily have been the end for him and Aaron. The thought was pushed back almost immediately. He was alive; beyond that, Dean probably wouldn't think.

He'd get stoned and Dean would demand mission reports and inventory checks and they'd avoid each other until the next time one of them wanted someone to yell at.

They pulled in to the camp a little over three hours later. They hadn't had to go too far afield on supply runs yet, but as the months passed supplies close to home were harder and harder to find. Within a handful of years the risk of going so far would be such that they'd have to move the entire camp. If any of them were left by then.

He walked to the infirmary building with Aaron, itching to go back to his own cabin first, but knowing he ought to spare the others the job of taking Aaron when he'd only have to go there later anyway.

Aaron's ankle was badly sprained and needed to be kept elevated with a compress to prevent bruising and swelling, while Cas' shoulder was dislocated. He was allowed to glug whiskey for pain relief as it was popped back in and he absently downed more than he was meant to, leaving him swaying a little as he left for his cabin.

Only to be stopped half way there.

“Dean wants to see us.” Risa said coolly. They'd never really got along, but there was a mutual respect until he'd palmed off his duties to look after Dean, then taken up drinking. Not many people knew about the weed yet and he was sure her reaction would be entertaining if she was left this disdainful over a little alcohol and dependency on his friend. If the term friend was still applicable to Dean.

He nodded and changed direction with slumped shoulders. He'd hoped he could get away with only Risa giving a report.

Risa fell in next to him but didn't say a word.

Dean was at the table they used for briefings and reports and planning. He almost always was now. He glanced up at them as they entered before turning back to finish what he was doing, leaving them standing uncertainly in front of him like naughty school children in front of the headmaster.

Cas got bored after a few moments, the whiskey still making him a little careless, and he wandered over to the window, turning his back on his leader. Very few people passed by as he watched, most of the camp being occupied with various duties and jobs to keep the place running. Those who weren't were probably asleep or doing other things involving a bed. There was as little to do as there was leisure time to do it in.

The chair creaked as Dean leaned back to take in Cas and Risa. “Everybody get back in one piece?”

Risa glanced at Cas before answering. “Mostly. Aaron Nickleson sprained an ankle.”

Dean looked suspiciously between them. “That it?”

“I dislocated my shoulder.” Cas shrugged dismissively.

Dean nodded and Castiel found himself on the receiving end of a glare. “Cas, you're taking rationing duty from now on.”

“I'm fine. It's fixed.” He challenged.

“I can't afford to have someone out there with retrieval teams risking their lives. You're on rationing duty until you clean up your act.” Dean said firmly, already turning to talk to Risa.

Cas made to leave, not bothering to wait for further dismissal.

“He wasn't risking anyone.” Risa cut in, her eyes fixed on Dean.

“Excuse me?” Dean asked.

“He wasn't risking anyone.” She repeated simply. “Aaron twisted his ankle and Castiel held him up, he had to fire one handed.” She gestured to her own gun to show that it wasn't his hand gun he'd fired.

Dean's face cleared of irritation. He nodded brusquely.

Risa leaned forward over the table. “He saved Aaron's life.”

“Yeah, I heard you.” Dean looked down at the papers in front of him as a gesture of 'I'm done with this, let it drop'.

“I think he should head a team again.”

Both Cas and Dean looked up in surprise.

“I'd keep him on my team, but I think he'd be more useful heading up his old team...” She trailed off realising her mistake. “Your old team. Until you're...”

Cas smirked a little at the reference to Dean's fragility. A month of complete inactivity will do that to a person. He really hoped they'd been done soon so he could top up the alcohol in his system; his shoulder was still sore and he was reaching the depressive, cynical stage.

Dean stared for a moment before giving yet another nod. He looked at Cas. “I'll talk to you later.”

The ex-angel didn't bother to acknowledge him, walking out of the building without a backward glance.

 

The next time Cas left the compound was with Chuck and Becky, along with three others he hadn't worked with and the five members of his (Dean's) old team.

It hadn't beem discussed and he didn't question it. He was just handed the command at the end of a briefing and told not to get stoned or drunk before setting out.

He didn't exactly do as he was told.

Still, he figured the pills he took were making him more alert, not less, so it wasn't so bad. Not like the hallucinagenic mushrooms Chuck had found growing a little way from camp. But he was probably okay on that front; the walls had stopped wobbling three hours ago. Mostly.

And anyway, it was just a local supply run; Becky had found a corner shop they'd missed with the initial sweep. That girl really had a talent for obsessive attention to detail. Chances were there wouldn't be much of worth there anyway, but as Chuck had mentioned, corner shops didn't just sell bread and milk. His main point had been toilet paper (soon followed by Becky's eyes lighting up at the prospect of disposable sanitary pads and tampons) but what Dean and Cas had been most interested in was the asparin, paracetamol, possible tinned goods, alcohol and bottled drinks that might still be there. If they had missed it there was a chance any other looters had too.

Cas rolled his head as Becky and Chuck piled everything they thought was of immediate value into two handbaskets ready to go to the trucks outside. They would get everything they could fit, but they had to do essentials first in case they needed to leave before they were done.

Becky was arguing the merits of bottled water over vodka, which Cas would usually side with her on, but they'd recently managed to get uncontaminated ground water from the wells they had excavated and vodka was useful from pain killer to sterilizer to preservative. He grabbed three bottles of vodka and threw them in Chuck's basket, adding two litre bottles of juice to Becky's. Juice was more useful than water just now.

They continued grabbing things off the shelves, still arguing even though the matter was resolved.

Cas saw Garth come back from loading the trucks and started packing his own basket as the ex-hunter took his place watching the fire exit. Garth was great, but no one was about to let him pick supplies. He'd probably end up taking a basket full of pop rocks and soda.

He hesitated as he passed the magazine rack, hand hovering over an issue of Busty Asian Beauties, wondering if Dean would even glance at it before moving on to the next mission plan. He gave himself a twisted smile at the thought. If Dean wouldn't even look at pictures of half naked women then he wasn't the Dean he'd pulled out of hell. All the violations he'd suffered down there and he still had a love of sex to rival his need for air. It was almost ridiculous.

He shoved the magazine down his pants, against his leg and hip.

He took a glance at the selection of pharmacuticals and grabbed the three mini first aid kits, ten boxes of the strongest pain medication there, sixteen reels of gauze bandages, ten boxes of steri-strips and six boxes of mild anti-biotics. Basket full, he dropped it at the door and grabbed another empty basket.

There wasn't a lot left in the medical aisle; really they were lucky there was anything more than a box of bandaids and some headache pills; so he moved on to the back of the store to see if any of the root vegatables there had sprouted instead of molded. A few potatoes and onions went into brown paper bags and into the basket, followed by two jars of strawberry jelly and some bags of chopped mixed nuts. The layout of this place was truly atrocious.

He glanced up to see that Becky and Chuck had put their baskets down next to his and Garth was about to carry them out.

He exchanged a nod with Garth and took up his post again.

The area was thick with croats and they needed every other member of the team dotted around on lookout or in the drivers' seats ready to set off at a moment's notice.

Garth was barely out of the door before Becky and Chuck were bickering again; this time over candy bars, Snickers versus a generic fruit and nut bar.

Cas shook his head like a worn out parent. “Guys, there's more tins and jars near the back. Some instant noodles too.” He informed or reminded them.

Their baskets were half full by the time Garth came back, scanning urgently for their faces as he told them they had to go. Now.

Chuck gulped and ran back to the truck, Becky rolling her eyes and cramming random items into her basket as she walked past the shelves towards the door. Sometimes Cas admired her for her ability to block the danger from her head; others he wondered if someone that batshit crazy should be allowed out into a world they seemed to think was fictional.

Now, as he himself grabbed a few items in passing as he followed her out of the door, he was unsure whether to opt for admire or be scared.

In five minutes he had chosen scared.

They were surrounded; every street was crawling with croats, and Cas had no idea why. It was as if someone had told the entire town population of infected where they would be and when. He and Becky were stood by the trucks, guns in hand, nearly shoulder to shoulder with three others and Garth and Chuck pored over a street map trying to find the most likely route for escape.

Chuck gave loud sigh of relief as Garth pointed down a side street that should twist around the back of one large warehouse building and the backs of some apartment buildings, preventing croats from pouring out of houses and shops as they went past.

Becky grinned maniacally and without hesitation walked closer to the croats blocking said street.

She was only about seven feet away by the time she opened fire, felling five croats in as many seconds with a burst from the semi-automatic she always insisted on carrying, her bad aim more than compensated for by her proximity. She waved the others forwards as the remaining croats started to run at her.

Cas was by her side in an instant, cursing under his breath as he half dragged her back to the trucks at a run, the others already in and ready to go.

He felt a hand brush his shoulder as he pushed her in ahead of him, and threw himself forwards into the vehicle, Chuck giving a frightened yelp and firing his handgun at the croat that had been right behind Castiel.

As stupid as Becky's move had been, of the thirteen croats blocking the side street only four remained, the others having been picked off by Garth as Becky and Cas pelted back to the trucks.

He decided then and there to make sure Chuck stayed at Becky's side every moment they were on assignments in future. The bickering was incessant and annoying as hell, but at least it kept her distracted from movie-style heriocs that could get them all killed.

He nearly decided on excluding her from missions full stop, but he had to admit, she was amazing with details and logistics, and her determination and optimism were probably the highest of anyone in camp. She irritated everyone, but she kept them human and in the moment in hopeless situations, and was bizzarely good for morale.

His thoughts drifted, thinking back to Dean's half-joke that he wouldn't let Becky join their camp.

It wasn't quite the death sentence the threat would be now; back then there were a multitude of camps; safe havens set up by various hunters, ex-armed forces, police and sometimes even teachers and mothers. Some of them might still be out there. They hadn't really checked in a while. Too far to go for an uncertain destination.

Camp Chitaqua had already been set up and functional when he and Dean joined them. They had known about it for months before they abandoned their home base at Bobby's, but had purposefully kept themselves somewhat separate from the 'civilions' as Dean called them (no one was a civilion anymore, but Dean still had to pretend, or there would be no one left to protect) in an effort not to draw unwanted, demonic-style attention to innocent people.

They'd barely been there a week before Dean had stepped up as leader, their previous one willingly giving up the role. Cas and Bobby had automactically become his seconds, though Bobby hadn't lasted long at Chitaqua, the pressure of post-apocalyptic living at his age and in a wheel chair proving to much for someone who was already a hardened alcoholic who had expected to die young.

Cas had hated it.

It wasn't in his nature to make orders or give judgement, and yet whenever Dean was busy planning the next raid, exchange with another camp or scout party to track down an ancient manuscript or weapon that might give them something to work with, Cas became the one each camp member turned to. The amount of times he'd had to settle an all too-human dispute that he didn't understand to begin with, or arrange accomodation for new refugees, or try to ration supplies further without causing discord; it was too much for someone who wasn't human to begin with, who had no idea how to deal with people. Bizzarely, he'd even performed a wedding, thirty-one funerals and two christenings once his history was revealed. It was strange to him that a rebel, fallen angel would be asked to act in that capacity, but he couldn't refuse the faith those people put in him.

They had to have faith in something.

His purpose had been to take orders from the being most beloved to him, to watch over earth and fight the forces of the devil. And he supposed it still was.

 


	4. And fate has led you through it, you do what you have to do (2)

 

The base was the busiest Castiel had seen it in a long time when they finally arrived back there. Aside from his team and the four or five others who came to help unload the trucks, there were three teams assembling outside Dean's cabin, all murmuring to each other with a buzzing air of excitement, about ten people loading up trucks with weapons, ammunition and medical supplies.

This had to be big. Five teams and more supplies than they could feasably spare would not be risked for something small.

He pushed his way past the people standing outside the cabin, ignoring the glares and muttered insults, and opened the door without knocking.

Risa and Dean were stood leaning over the conference table (Dean had stuck a fold out camp bed and a duffel bag of clothes in the cabin they used for briefings not long after he 'woke up' and had put his old cabin back on the roster of vacant cabins) looking over a check list of supplies with a map partially hidden underneath it.

Dean looked up at Castiel's enterence. “Is Chuck out there?” He asked, intead of a greeting.

Cas nodded.

“Send him in.” Dean bent back to the table.

“I'm not your messenger boy, do it yourself.” Cas answered snarkily, leftover adreneline, exhaustion and probably a little phet making him more sarcastic and rebellious than he would have otherwise been.

Dean didn't even look up. “I'm busy.”

Castiel clenched his hands at the lack of response, of anger, of _anything_ to show that Dean was really still in there. “Doing what exactly?”

Dean didn't answer, instead looking over to Risa who sighed, nodded and headed out to get Chuck. “If you wanna stick around, you better start taking orders.” He said after a moment, seemingly to the room at large.

Cas snorted. Another human behaviour the drugs had helped him embrace. “Yeah, turn over a new leaf, right? I thought you were all about not doing as you're told.”

Dean was silent until Risa came back in with Chuck.

“Sir?” Chuck asked a little timidly. He'd hoped to have some time alone with a bottle of whiskey and a very drunk Becky before debriefing and was still hoping.

“We got anymore of those flapjack things? The ones with the dried fruit and g... Gensing? Ginsang?”

“Ginseng.” Cas asnwered, “And yeah, about three more boxes. Why? Becky's 'hippie douche-bag cereal bars' worth your while now we ran out of coffee?” They hadn't. Castiel and Becky had got sick of breaking up and resolving fights between people who'd had too much coffee and not enough sleep and had hidden it until there was a better reason than nightmares for people to be up all night.

“They're food and even a placebo effect is better than nothing.” Dean answered.

“So, is that all you wanted?” Chuck asked, a little confused as to why he'd been called in so unnecessarily.

“So what's the mission? There's a lot of people outside, you got a lead on the colt?” Castiel ignored Chuck.

“Got a report of survivors in Wisconsin. Jane's team picked up a radio call in about three hours ago; there are about twenty of them in an 'eco village' out in the middle of nowhere. They're doing okay, but none of them know how to fight, they have no guns, no weapons. There are two quarantine areas within fifty miles of them and they need to be somewhere safe.” Dean's voice held only a mild feeling of boredom as he spoke. But it was still more than Cas had been expecting. He hadn't thought Dean would answer at all.

“Okay then, I'm just gonna...” Chuck pointed over his shoulder, clearly realising that he was going to be waiting a long time for enough attention for a dismissal.

“They have supplies?” Castiel couldn't help but think that Dean would need more incentive than that to relocate twenty people, taking them into their own camp and feeding them on their own dwindling resources than the fact that they hadn't learned to fight.

“Risa, take the list and double check everything's loaded.” Dean ordered quietly.

“Sure.” Risa shot Cas a glare before leaving, though he had no clear idea what for.

“They have several sacks of grain, another few of seeds, some tools.” Dean spoke once Risa was gone, then his voice went softer, quieter. “They have seven kids there. Ages three through nine. A couple of teenagers who'd barely be out of high school.”

Castiel's eyes widened at the sudden show of almost emotion. Even for the old Dean that meant usually something big. “Dean...”

Dean swallowed, jaw twitching. “We're leaving in a few hours. If you're sober enough you can join us.”

“Us?” Cas asked. Dean still wasn't well enough to be out on a mission, especially that far from camp.

Dean avoided his eyes. “We're taking most of the trucks so we can fit everyone in. We need to make a plan on where and how we're going to replace any vehicles we lose.”

“Right.” Cas let it drop. He knew when Dean was set on something and he knew he couldn't win. The best he could do was tag along and try to keep the fearless leader safe. He wandered up to the the table, excavating the map with newly updated hot zones and looking for easy to raid car dealerships and indoor parking lots.

After two hours they had several plans in place, two in case they lost some trucks, five in case they lost all of them. They needed the five alternate plans so that they could be carried out in the absence of the teams that went with the trucks. Even if they all got stranded or killed, the camp had to go on and they owed the people left behind at Chitaqua the means to do so.

After that, they had three hours to rest and eat before Castiel was climbing into the passenger seat of Dean's chosen truck.

Silence reigned for over an hour, Dean driving and Cas daydreaming away from the weed he'd smoked to calm down, knowing a sober ride with Dean wasn't a great plan when he was already tempted to start an argument just for a reaction.

Dean knew. Of course he knew, he seemed to have a radar for when Cas was high, stoned or drunk, no matter how little or what he'd taken, but he didn't say anything. He'd said enough on his opinion of Cas going out on missions without a clear head and he wasn't going to waste his breath saying more. Not like the old Dean; he would have bitched and griped and never shut up, especially after what happened to Sam with the demon blood, but then he wasn't the old Dean. He wasn't even close. This was as near as he had come to showing interest in anything other than finding the colt and finding Lucifer or finding Michael to say yes since Detroit.

He thought Cas didn't know about him still looking for Michael and the other angels, but he hadn't been able to hide anything from the ex-angel for a very long time.

A selfish part of him still hoped he'd never find them.

“Are we going to redevouz with Jane's team?” Cas asked as his thoughts slowly drifted back to the present.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“They're still in Illinois, it'd be a detour.”

Cas nodded. Jane's group were supposedly out there looking for hospitals and storage where there might be supplies that hadn't been destroyed or taken yet. They were actually out in search of a book collector Becky had known about that might have books on angel and demon mythos. He'd apparently been an avid Wincest shipper and huge fan of the Supernatural books in general, and had gushed to Becky several times about how accurate the books were on demonic events. He'd also said he'd found an old bible with a whole extra story before genesis about the angels. He wasn't sure it was genuine and not just added in by someone, but apparently the book itself, including the extra passages, was genuine to the fifthteenth century. If it was made up, it was made up by a monk a good few hundred years ago, and any chance of finding out something new about angels was worth investigating. Either way, it was the job of a good few days.

“Cas?” Dean asked hesitantly.

“Hmm?”

“Do you think there are still others out there? Other hunters?” Dean's tone was detatched now, almost uninterested.

“Probably. They are the only ones who would know how to deal with any of this.” Cas answered, not quite as detatched but more genuine in his detatchment. He had no real emotional investment in other hunters.

Dean didn't answer.

“Anyone you hope is still out there?” Castiel asked out of idle curiosity and the small hope that Dean would respond with a little emotion.

“There are a few people I knew.” Dean answered, continuing after a moment's hesitation. “Bobby had a record. Had every hunter's name in it he had heard and any contact details he knew.”

“Too bad the phones don't work.” Cas said. He knew it was cold, but he couldn't really bring himself to care. It was the truth and that was what Dean had always asked of him.

“Some of 'em were retired or had home bases.” Dean said flatly.

“And you think they might've stuck around?”

Dean shrugged.

After that the subject was dropped. Neither was going to suggest finding them; they had their own problems, their own people to worry about. If there were others out there then great, if not bummer. It didn't really concern them either way.That didn't stop each of them from hoping other would.

After another hour of silence, Cas hesitantly pulled out a cassette tape from his pocket. It was one Dean had given to him years ago, a mix tape of different artists that Dean liked, or just one off songs. He'd told him it was for his 'musical education'. At the time Cas had taken him seriously and listened to a song a day, trying to decipher the meanings to the lyrics and the technical aspects of the guitar solos. It had been months before Dean had told him it was just meant for pleasure. His smile hurt as he remembered, and he didn't glance at Dean as he stuck it it the deck and pressed play.

The sound was slightly warped from overuse, but he leaned his head back and closed his eyes as the first few strains of 'The Great Gig in the Sky' washed through the car. Pink Floyd, he remembered automatically. A man with an indian accent muttered near inaudibly how he wasn't afraid to die, any time would do, why should he be afraid to die, we all have to go sometime. He focused on the music, swelling with the guitar in slightly etherial sliding chords as the singer started her screaming song. He'd always loved this song. Not only was it a real experience when high, but he found himself hanging on her voice as she screamed and shouted and sobbed and crooned, somehow always fitting the music, his own emotions rising to follow hers like she was teaching him how to feel them all properly now that he could. Something Dean had never thought to do.

He sighed as the song inevitably drew to a close, his eyes prickling and stinging. He probably should have forward wound the tape and skipped it so he wouldn't have to stifle his emotions in the car with Dean, but he never could resist a bit of emotional self-harm. He kept his eyes closed as harsher, louder rock songs played, hoping that Dean would let him be until he could pull himself together.

He played the tape on a loop the whole way, one side then the other over and over. It was better than silence, and once he saw Dean's fingers tapping on the steering wheel in time with Sin City, not a single part of him was willing to turn it off.

With stops for refuelling and diversions, they pulled into a small camping field full of what looked like straw and mud huts just as the sun was rising. They had passed a few people acting as scouts to the settlement and there were already people standing by to greet them, sleepy eyed children stood by their parents.

Cas waited for Dean to climb out first, as did the other drivers, and followed a little behind him as he approached the refugees they would hopefully be relocating.

He took a look around as the introductions were made, taking note of the cannabis plants in a neighbouring field. He glanced at Dean and dug a pre-rolled spliff from his pocket, fumbling for his lighter. If they grew the stuff, they probably wouldn't mind him smoking it. He ignored Dean's disapproving glare as some of the pungent smoke reached him, and inhaled deeply. He liked the look of this place. Shame it wouldn't exist for much longer.

“Listen lady, we have to get out of here within twenty-four hours to get back to our own people. If you aren't with us then too bad.” Dean was arguing, drawing Cas' attention.

A woman in what looked to be her mid forties stepped forwards into his space. “I said we'll try our best, but we have crops that need bringing in and people who don't want to leave. We need more time.”

“Time I can't give you.” Dean gestured his men forward. “These guys will help you load up anything that's ready. Cas here will have a talk to your people about leaving.”

Cas looked at Dean in shock. Why on earth would Dean think he would be able to convince these people to leave their homes? Still, he followed the woman who was designated to show him to the others. He'd do his best.


End file.
